Tag Archives: new books

This morning it is pissing down and rather cold. Bit of a bummer after it’s been so lovely, although the plants need the rain and I bet the blackbird is pleased not to have to be eternally dive bombing my cat. Politics has rather dominated this week despite my best efforts not to let it. There are a lot of things I could say but I’ll only go off on … OK all of them. Sorry.

(RANT MODE ON).

The trouble with having a nation where everyone is armed to the teeth is that, in an altercation, things seem to move from shouting and pointy sticks to bullets very quickly. Since Trump has followed Hitler’s playbook from the get go, I’m not going to be hugely surprised if he suddenly stands up and actually, you know, says that he’s a full on white supremacist.

After all, he is a man who would prefer to appear in public looking like an orange panda with a Brillo pad on his head than admit to being pale and bald. That’s impressive. Someone like that is always going to be full of interesting surprises. Although, I think I may possibly be starting to understand why he chose orange foundation over a more natural shade like say … brown.

Then again, he may be President but he’s also an American businessman and foremost, he’s going to act as such. If Henry Ford can have his workers shot for going on strike, I guess Donald Trump can send anonymous armed guards to shoot demonstrators. I was amused by the way that the actual city administration of Washington DC appears to have trolled him by painting Black Lives Matter on the streets near the Whitehouse. I probably shouldn’t be. I’m sure it makes me a bad person. But I can’t help thinking that DT going down to the bunker and the wire fences being put up around the Whitehouse might say as much about his private view of some Americans as it does about their intentions towards him.

Or to spell it out a bit. Is he getting worried the people he derides feel the way about him that he does about them? Or maybe it’s just precedent. I mean Americans do have a bit of a thing about shooting their presidents. No but hang on, aren’t the nutters with guns are mostly in his fan base? You can never be too careful I guess.

What does strike me is all the posts where young black lads in the USA are talking about the things they have to remember. Don’t go out after dark, avoid wearing certain clothes … I can empathise with them hugely since, while theirs go further, these kinds of dos and don’ts are still integral to any woman’s life, no matter what her age or colour. Fist bump. Welcome to my world darling.

Except times about one trillion.

This is something that upsets me. I totally get why people over there are angry and rioting.

My great to the power of … many … grandfather was black. This is something we’ve learned accidentally from blood analysis rather than tracing the family tree, we think he must have been Roman. The thing is, I look at this and think, there but for the quirks of genetics, go I. I once encountered someone on facebook who was banging on about how the BBC was crap because there should be only white people on it and that coloured people weren’t representative of ‘Britain’ – that they shouldn’t live in this country and should all be ‘sent home’. I told him coloured people had been settling in Britain for at least a thousand years and that I was living proof, explaining about my Great (however many it is) grandfather. Would I have to leave your utopian only Britain? I asked him. He told me that I didn’t count, because, ‘your skin is white.’ I’m not making this shit up. Racism is that arbitrary and pathetic.

As my 87 year old mother said the other day, ‘ it’s disgusting.’

‘Whatever you do to the least of my brethren, that you do to me.’

I wonder which bit of that the conservative ‘Christians’ in the USA fail to get.

Moving on.

Here in Britain, we’ve had the Dominic Cummings thing. Jeepers. So my first thought, on that one, was that if I was worried one of us had the Rona, and that McOther and I might end up in hospital with McMini here alone, I’d have been up the M6 to my brother’s with him like a rat up a drainpipe. But then Mr Cummings tried to explain his trip to Barnard Castle the following day.

What the actual fuck did he think he was doing? Seriously? Who advised him to come out with that utter tosh? There are so many explanations that are reasonable. ‘I was an idiot, I didn’t think, it’s a lovely place and I just took a run out there without thinking it through. I was foolish and I’m sorry.’ That would have done it.

But no. That would involve him admitting to a mistake. Can’t have that. For he is perfect. As I understand it, the explanation is that, worried the Rona might have left him a bit blind, despite having driven 200 miles up the A1 from London the day before without a second thought, he decided to test his eyesight. Rather than go outside and see if he could read a number plate from 30 yards away, like you do at the beginning of a driving test, he decided he’d do this by going for a thirty mile drive.

How did that work?

If I don’t crash the car and kill anyone. I’m not blind.

Yeh good call.

Seriously though.

What?

This is the kind of logic behind the ducking stool. I know our current batch of Conservatives is quite a lot further to the right than some of their predecessors have been but … really?

Surely you need to get your reasoning skills a bit further than that to advise the Prime Minister these days. Or maybe not. Hmm… strange that there’s a big Glaxo facility in Barney. Is that where he was going? Is Not Wanting To Talk About Glaxo why he was prepared to come out with the kind of excuse a three year old caught nicking biscuits would be ashamed of?

The point is, he went from having a reasonably valid excuse, or at least a reason for transgressing that any parent could understand, to looking like the biggest lying bastard ever. The Barnard Castle (northern euphemism for cobblers) he was talking about his visit to Barney immediately makes any sensible person wonder what the actual reason for going north in the first place might have been.

Seriously, McMini, bearded in the larder with a half eaten biscuit in one hand and the opened packet in the other could argue more cogently that he had not been pilfering biscuits than Mr Cummings argued a valid reason for his trip to Barnard Castle.

From feeling a certain amount of empathy with Cummings I now wonder about the veracity of all of it. He only stayed up there two days. Why? Sounds like he was just visiting the parents. Or was it something more sinister than that? Were he or his wife even ill?

Mr Cummings, if you’re reading this, do get in touch with me. I can put you in contact with my young son. I’m sure he’ll help you to come up with something a bit more plausible next time you’re caught being a naughty boy. Or thinking about it, your own lad’s four so doubtless you can sort your next excuse in house. Yeh, cut out your advisors and talk to the four year old next time you want to think of an excuse because I assure you, he’ll come up with quality compared to this last effort.

Then there’s Boris’ knee jerk reaction. Nothing sensible like,

‘OK, I can’t make any constructive comment on this until I’ve spoken to my colleague and found out what’s going on, I will do so and make a statement as soon as I am able.’

Nope it’s ‘He was here all the time, honest guv!’ So now he just looks like an almighty liar who will put his loyalty to his friends ahead of both his loyalty to the nation and his integrity. A kind of reverse Thomas a Becket. And as Prime Minister, his loyaltay to his nation is important. This is not what you do when you work for governments. If you work for MI6 and you are tasked with spying on your best friend, you do it. That’s why working for MI6 is not a pleasant job. Likewise politics. Not an easy job. Not really. That’s why it now comes with a good wage. Because if you do it properly and you make it about helping others, rather than stepping over them and helping yourself, it’s actually a very tough gig. And like Thomas a Becket, if you do it properly, you’re going to make a lot of enemies out of folks who might, once, have been your friends.

It’s as much a non-story as that thing about Gordon Brown was when he called that woman a racist. To be honest, while I got what she was saying, it did come over as a bit, ‘send the brown people home,’ so I could see his point.

But all these non-stories are about smearing others. Groups of people or political parties who don’t like someone looking for a reason to destroy them. They haven’t the wit to wait for something really good. They use the first piece of dubious shit they can find, with no substance to back it up. They undermine their own integrity, not to mention the credibility of any genuinely pertinent information they might discover at a later date. Which is one of the reasons why the far right’s supporters don’t believe anyone except their own mouth pieces anymore (sure the other is brainwashing but that’s one).

On that ‘outrage’, I sympathised with Gordon Brown. I felt that no journalist of integrity should have printed/released a throw away remark made in private. And however much of a get Mr Brown may or may not have been, the place where he should be tried and tested for his actions was not the newspapers. It was within government, parliament, the law – possibly – and his own party? Through whatever the official channels were, anyway, not on telly.

Likewise, I actually sympathised with Dominic Cummings – until his laughable attempts to explain himself. But I do still have some sympathy, in that the whole thing does come over as another nothing whipped up into something by his political enemies. There are a lot of very unpleasant people in politics but some are reasonably proficient at the things they are there to do. I guess it’s balancing that. If someone is unctuous, condescending and rude but a brilliant chancellor, maybe that’s OK.

Yes, politicians need to be held accountable and, yes, that’s what the press is there to do. But it needs to be done with integrity. If the press prints something to hold people in power accountable, they need to do it because making their actions public is the right thing to do. Not to make news. The nub is that the news making is a by product. The story has to serve some other purpose. There has to be some vague nod at a quest for truth or a point to it all. It’s very subtle but there’s a difference in there and I wonder if we are losing sight of it.

It’s like there’s nothing interesting happening so politicians and press alike have to whip some piece of mundane crap up into this gargantuan pseudo scandal. And then when, in the 1980s, there was some very compelling evidence that a cabinet minister was abusing children. Politicians and press, alike, hushed it up.

The notable thing that struck me was the lack of statesmanlike behaviour on all sides. Clearly a lot of people in Whitehall and Parliament have got where they are today by going round in big groups, overwhelming and shouting down the opposition rather than winning debates. Perhaps that’s why Mr Cummings was incapable of mustering any humility or making a genuine apology and a reasonable explanation. Perhaps he’s never had to acknowledge a mistake before and doesn’t understand how to. Perhaps he lacks the humility to acknowledge his failings. Perhaps that’s why Boris just blustered defensively instead of admitting that he didn’t know the facts and would look into them and report back. Or could it be that the truth of that trip really is something so deeply insidious that it must be buried. It probably isn’t, but after their behaviour, I suspect a lot of people are going to think it is, whether or not that’s true.

(/RANT MODE)

____________________________

If current politics is doing your head in, world wide or at home, why not lose yourself in a good book, or alternatively, one of mine. There are several options.

1. Few Are Chosen, K’Barthan Series: Part 1 on AUDIO wooooot

This should be reduced to £5.99 or $5.99 AU/CA/US/NZ and €5.99 on Kobo, from now until 28th June.

In addition, it’ll be available for the same price on Chirp and iBooks from 13th – 28th June.

In other audio news, hopefully the new shorts will be available over the coming year. After a bit of thought, I’ve decided it will also including the free mailing list exclusive, Night Swimming. One of the joys of this is that, with any luck, these will be a bit shorter so I will be able to sell them direct from my site.

2. Close Enough, K’Barthan Shorts, Hamgeean Misfit: No 3

Close Enough cover

This is out on 18th June.

It’s also available for preorder in most places, except possibly Apple because it’s the first time I’ve uploaded there direct and it’s taking me a fair while to understand how their store works.

If you’re interested, here’s the blurb.

As recently appointed delivery man for Big Merv, one of Ning Dang Po’s most powerful crime bosses, The Pan of Hamgee is ordered to deliver a gift to Big Merv’s current girlfriend. With a pair of bespoke-made, sapphire and diamond earrings on board, and a trip across the city in the offing, what could possibly go wrong? Everything.

This week another treat as we are once again visited by the inestimable Tallis Steelyard who will tell us a story. Oh yes. Enjoy.

Only the Truth

I hold up Bassat Larn as an example of the sort of problems that can befall an honest man. Now Bassat wasn’t merely honourable, he simply couldn’t lie. In any situation he would merely tell the truth as he saw it. There was nothing vindictive in this, it was just the way he was. Now in his ‘day job’ it didn’t matter. When you normally serve as a man-at-arms on horseback and are about to say something that might be better left unsaid, one of your colleagues will merely tap your helmet so that the visor closes, muffling your words. Not only that, but soldiers tend to be a robust group of individuals, unlikely to be hurt by your candid comments about the colour of their tunic or their current haircut.

The problem arose because Bassat was not merely a handsome young man, he had a beautiful singing voice and could play the guitar well. He was popular with his companions because he was always happy to entertain them around the camp fire if asked, and would regularly extemporise comic verse to describe their antics during the day. But one winter, as he returned to Port Naain, the campaigning season over, his mother pointed out that he ought to give up his military career and concentrate on his singing. She had already inveigled me into getting him work at various houses. Now he wasn’t entirely sold on this, but in all candour he was willing to give it a try. He promised that if things went well during the winter, he would stay in Port Naain for the rest of the year as well, just to give it a fair trial.

Because his mother had been so insistent I did my best for Bassat. I started him out carefully at events where I would be there and where I felt he would be safe. There are houses where I would hesitate to introduce a handsome and perhaps impressionable young man. But he seemed to flourish, he was obviously easy to like, and he could sing well. But he managed all this without airs and graces, he could walk past a mirror without stopping to check his hair, and he interspersed his more select work with short but amusing, self-deprecating little ditties. So eventually I got him work at events where I wouldn’t be present to keep an eye on things. Still he seemed to survive. Unfortunately he was then approached by Madam Galwin. Madam Galwin is at least seventy but admits to fifty. Her daughter, Madam Wuldecker is at least fifty, but admits to ‘early thirties.’ Her daughter, Mistress Zalia lays claim to being ‘twenty something’ but in all candour is unlikely to be a day over seventeen. As you can see, this is a family that needs tactful handling. Or ideally no handling whatsoever, I make a point of behaving with absolute propriety in their presence.

Still Bassat turned up to perform and Madam Galwin sang a duet with him. Shortly after this, the buffet was served and Bassat went to get something to eat. He was waylaid by Madam Bulfront. This was his second major misfortune. Madam Bulfront commiserated with him, having to sing with their hostess.

Bassat, honest to the core, replied, “Oh no, it was a pleasure. For a lady of her age, she still has an excellent voice.”

Scenting scandal, Madam Bulfront asked, “Why, is she more than fifty?”

“Well she came out with my grandmother so that will make her seventy-two.”

Now a true friend would have gagged Bassat at this point. After all, about a dozen ladies were standing round, notionally in conversation, but actually the room was utterly silent as they listened to the innocent get himself ever deeper into trouble. Perhaps Bassat realised he may have been too outspoken but he was rescued when there was an announcement that there would be dancing. Bassat was approached by Madam Wuldecker, the daughter of his hostess, and danced the first two dances with her. To be fair he dances well enough. But when some other partner had claimed Madam Wuldecker, Bassat sat out for a while. Who should appear but Madam Bulfront. “Why Bassat, you managed to make your partner shine.”

“Oh no, Madam Wuldecker is a very accomplished dancer, she covered up any number of my mistakes.”

“I would have thought a lady in her thirties might have adopted a more dashing style?”

“Ah there you are mistaken, Madam Wuldecker is a fit and active fifty-year old.”

At this point Bassat noticed the silent ladies, apparently engaged in deep conversation, standing around him and realised he might be best placed to change the subject. Claiming the need for a little air he slipped out into the garden. There he was approached by the young Mistress Zalia. Now Bassat was not yet thirty, but some of those years had included some hard campaigning. Hence Bassat probably felt older than he looked. Zalia dressed to be twenty-five and had rather set her cap at him. Bassat, ever honourable, chose safety and dropped into ‘older brother’ mode. This was most definitely not what Zalia had wanted and she felt distinctly insulted.

Now let us be fair to these three ladies. Madam Galwin is someone I do have some respect for. She has raised several children, is a tower of strength to her friends, nursed her dying husband herself, and is indeed remarkably fit and well for her age. If she admitted to her true age people would indeed be impressed by how well she carries herself. But in all candour claiming to be
fifty is beyond her. It’s the same with Madam Wuldecker. She has indeed made a conscious effort ‘not to let herself go.’ Whilst she no longer has the figure she had when she married, for a woman who has given borne two children she has remained remarkably trim. But in all candour, too many of her contemporaries are living among us. We all know how old she is.

Again for fifty she looks remarkably well and is to be commended. But she is not thirty. Finally we have Zalia. She is a pretty girl and when she forgets herself she is actually delightful company. Given her mother and grandmother I am sure she will be beautiful into middle age and handsome afterwards. Indeed had she had an older brother (who would have teased her into exasperated acceptance of reality) rather than a younger one, I believe Bassat would have never have experienced the problems that he did. Zalia, insulted, instructed her brother Zanvian, to chastise Bassat. Zanvian, with all the seriousness of a fifteen year old boy who discovers he is apparently the man of the house, called upon Bassat next morning and
challenged him to a duel to the death.

Bassat, on discovering the reason, reluctantly agreed and after parrying Zanvian’s flurry of attacks, disarmed him with casual ease. He commended him for his courage and sense of filial duty, made some cogent comments about the young man’s technique with the sword, suggested that he told his sister that if she wished to be treated as if she were in her twenties, she ought to stop acting like a spoiled twelve-year old, and sent him off home. Zalia, now furious at this second humiliation complained about this to her mother. This lady received her daughter’s news just after numerous of her acquaintances had told her what Bassat had said about her. Furious, she hired a group of thugs to give her tormentor the beating he obviously
needed.

Now Broken-Nose Dawkin was a perfectly competent thug for hire and his assorted ruffians decent enough specimens of their kind. So when they ambushed Bassat by leaping out of an alley as he walked past, they were confident they could administer the appropriate thrashing. Unfortunately Bassat’s reflexes were trained in Uttermost Partann. Even as the ambushers
closed on him, he had drawn his knife and was attacking into the ambush. Realising the sort of people he was dealing with, he didn’t actually kill anybody. Indeed he borrowed a bludgeon of one thug who realised he no longer needed it and laid about him with that. Now at this point there was no harm done. (Save perhaps to sundry louts) But Bassat would insist on knowing who had set them on him. Obviously Broken-Nose Dawkin felt no obligation to protect the person who had dumped him and his innocent followers into the situation. So Bassat helped the various bullies bandage what needed bandaging and escorted them to Madam Wuldecker’s house. There at the front door (with all the neighbours watching from behind the curtains) he rang the bell. When the maid answered, he ushered the injured men into the house and gave the maid the message, “Tell your mistress, ears fit best where they are grown.” With that he left.

When she heard the news from her daughter and granddaughter, Madam Galwin felt that this Bassat fellow was obviously waging war on the family good name. She did not hesitate. She hired an assassin. This individual stabbed Bassat in the back as he walked down the street. Unluckily for the assassin, Bassat had taken to wearing his riding mail under his jacket. The dagger didn’t penetrate. Even more unlucky for the assassin Bassat had also taken to wearing his sword. He drew this and cut the assassin down even as the man tried to stab him a second time.

Now exasperated, Bassat decided that he had had enough. He left the assassin’s head impaled on the ornamental railings that grace the front of Madam Galwin’s residence.

Bassat then pondered his future. He decided that, in all candour, he was not suited to the life of an entertainer in polite society. Indeed it did occur to him that whilst the slaying of assassins as they attempt to kill you is regarded as reasonable, displaying their severed heads publically could be regarded as a step to far. After all, with no sense of irony whatsoever the shadowy collective which oversees assassins within the city is prone to react badly to those who, ‘bring the profession into disrepute.’

Our hero made arrangements with friends, kissed his tearful mother farewell, and went down to Nightbell Point where he was collected from the beach and joined a ship sailing south to Prae Ducis. I got one note from him, apologising for any trouble he might have caused me. Apparently from Prae Ducis he’d drifted east and one night had stumbled upon an Urlan hunting party sitting eating round their campfire. He announced himself as a bard, they made room for him and asked him to play.

Apparently he sang them a comic song of his own antics which amused them greatly. One of them challenged him to a duel to the first blood. He acquitted himself well and they suggested to him that, if he had nothing better to do, he might want to ride with them. He agreed and they loaned him a horse. As far as I know he rode over the Aphices Mountains and disappeared
with his friends into the seething barbarian lands of the East.

___________________

And now a brief note from Jim Webster. It’s really just to inform you that I’ve just published two more collections of stories.

More of the wit, wisdom and jumbled musings of Tallis Steelyard. Meet a vengeful Lady Bountiful, an artist who smokes only the finest hallucinogenic lichens, and wonder at the audacity of the rogue who attempts to drown a poet! Indeed after reading this book you may never look at young boys and their dogs, onions, lumberjacks or usurers in quite the same way again. A book that plumbs the depths of degradation, from murder to folk dancing, from the theft of pastry cooks to the playing of a bladder pipe in public.

Once more Tallis Steelyard chronicles the life of Maljie, a lady of his acquaintance. Discover the wonders of the Hermeneutic Catherine Wheel, marvel at the use of eye-watering quantities of hot spices. We have bell ringers, pop-up book shops, exploding sedan chairs, jobbing builders, literary criticism, horse theft and a revolutionary mob. We also discover what happens when a maiden, riding a white palfrey led by a dwarf, appears on the scene.

This week I have been mostly …

Doing loads of stuff.

OK so there’s a lot I haven’t done but I’m feeling productive. I’ve managed to do some housework, some book marketing (more on that story later) and some writing. I’ve done some work on the model I’m building – a Lancaster Bomber which my son abandoned. I’ve also managed to take 12 used deodourant sticks, take the quarter of an inch of deodourant that ends up below the rim of the plastic casing and meld them into another one and a half deodourant sticks. Don’t ask me why I do this, or how because it makes me look even more weird and OCD than I already am.

The writing was fun, indeed the reason this is late is because these over verbose bloatings take me about three hours to write and instead of doing it yesterday, when I was supposed to, I did a real, professional day’s writing; at least an hour on three separate projects. I’ve also managed to do some weights and keep my walking up, although only half hour a day for most of this week as I’ve been a bit busy. The weights are good though. After 8 years going to the gym, I have a fair few exercises designed for arms and stomachs which I can do on a Swiss Ball. It’s early days, but my triceps are feeling stiff so with any luck it’s doing something.

Any weight lost? Nah, but I haven’t gained any either so I’ll take that as a win. Woot.

Making a tit of myself.

A few weeks ago, I was chatting to an author friend and she tipped me the nod about a virtual book fair that was being put on by the lovely folks at Our Own Write. This seemed like a great idea so I signed up, only to discover that in order to do the virtual book fair, I had to do a half hour virtual spot on … twitter!

Gads. But I never use twitter! I try but it’s an impenetrable wall of noise, I find it impossible to find anything. Even if I put hashtags in I just get a wall of posts from people I don’t know. Finding my actual friends there, and talking to them, is really hard. At least I can read my facebook feed and see stuff that’s been posted by people I’m following. Twitter? Nah. It’s all influencers and Americans I’ve never heard of. People it thinks I’d like to hear from, rather than the ones I actually would, ie the folks I’m actually following. It’s like trying to find a comment from a friend on the most obscure article in existence on the BBC news site. I must be doing it wrong but so far, I’ve failed to figure it out over all but I seem to be able to take little bites here and there. That said, these posts all go to twitter once a week and people can tweet me if they want to, at which point, twitter does usually tell me.

Anyway, having dumped myself comprehensively in the soup, on a platform where I have no following with tech about which I was clueless there was only one thing for it. I was going to have to try and attain bluffer’s level Twitter, learnhow to make a live broadcast and then, you know, do it. Luckily another author friend was taking part in the book fair too and she had the slot before me so in the days running up to it we exchanged notes and lessons learned which was handy.

Because these times feel a bit apocalyptic, the obvious choice was something that poked a bit of light hearted fun at apocalyptic/disaster movies. So I chose Escape From B-Movie Hell … partly because of that and partly because escaping from the b-movie hell we are in quite now probably holds a fair amount of appeal to many folks right now.

The learning curve was all quite daunting but surprisingly fun!

The first thing I discovered is that to live broadcast on Twitter you must connect it to another app, specifically for broadcasting, called Periscope. Having downloaded and joined up Periscope, that was relatively straightforward. You have to use a phone or a tablet, but at the same time, not my iPad Pro, it seems. That just hung. Never mind, the phone it was. So far so good.

Once I’d done that it was time to experiment. What I planned to do was write a hello and welcome to my spot tweet with all the hash tags people would need to link it to the virtual book fair. Then I had to click on the photo icon as if I was going to add a photo to my tweet. The first icon in my gallery is a picture of a camera, click that, click go live and it’ll connect and Bob’s your uncle. I’m live. Except on the day, I guess I was in a bit of a panic because … aaaaaaargh! It didn’t happen. I could not get Twitter and Periscope to talk to each other.

When you try and do this back the other way, Periscope does send your stuff to Twitter, but you can’t put in the hashtags so nobody who is searching for the VirtualBookFair hashtag was going to find my broadcast. However, my slot had started and therefore, by hook or by crook, I had to. So there was only one thing to do, I was going to have to broadcast my slot on Periscope. Periscope which I had only just joined three days before, where I had one follower.

Luckily that ONE follower was my lovely author friend Rachel Churcher and to my eternal gratitude, she shared my live broadcast with all the right hash tags on her feed … and then the lovely folks at Our Own Write shared it on theirs, I think, so after a few minutes stalling, while I waited for someone, anyone to be listening, finally people started to arrive.

Anyway, if you like that sort of thing, you can witness this car-crash of an episode by clicking this link – oooh Twitter has given me a special preview box. Well anyway, if you’re game for a laugh you can have a listen there … apologies to Diana who has already sought it out and listened after last week, definitely an A plus there Diana, and no homework this week, because you’ve done it in advance! Mwahahahahrgh! Sorry I was going t post the link wasn’t I? Yeh, so if you want to watch it’s here:

Lessons learned? Well, despite the rank fear, it was great fun. The people who showed up to my broadcast were lovely and asked me some really interesting questions. I also have those tiny initial rumblings of a thought that suggest I might end up writing another book about Andi Turbot and the Threeps. I’m definitely feeling light hearted enough to give it a go at the moment.

On top of that, I really enjoyed learning a new skill. A skill I think I may be able to use. For a while now, I’ve been thinking I need a podcast, and what better thing than just reading these posts aloud? They are all about fifteen to twenty minutes read aloud and after doing my live broadcast I am a lot more confident that I could do that. The idea of using a proper piece of software is extremely daunting … it’s all levels and audio gain and a microphone and … maths. Even so, I may use a proper piece of software, record them and then put them out as a podcast, or I may just do them as twitter broadcasts and attach my Periscope account to Facebook and YouTube as well. I do need to do something to reach the audio people though.

What else did I learn? That most people use Periscope for evangelism. That some people just stare at the screen, I swear there were a couple of broadcasts I happened upon where, to all intents and purposes, the person appeared not to know they were broadcasting. There are some which are clearly groups of mates having a chat. And there are ladies … yes it seems to be a hotbed of home strippers. Or possibly they are just videoing themselves having a J Arthur. It’s difficult to tell because I’m not bloody hanging round long enough to find out.

Other joy … I have some book promos on

Relax with a good book … or relax with one of mine, the choice is yours.

This week our lovely friends at Kobo are running a 40% off Box Set sale. Naturally the K’Barthan Series is in it so if you do Kobo, it’s worth nipping over for a look. It’s not just my book, it’s a whole load of Box Sets and you can buy as many as you like so if that’s a thing that interests you click this lovely link here. None of them will look as if they’re reduced but if you enter this code at check out APRILSAVE it should take off 40%.

Also to go with the VirtualBookFair, Escape From B-Movie Hell is reduced to the nearest equivalent to $2.99 in all currencies. So if anyone’s interested in reading that, this might be the time to pick up a copy cheap.

That said … ALL my books are available in the major public library apps. While unfortunately, you can’t ask a librarian to get a paperback version in because all the libraries are closed, their apps are alive and well and … seeing a 35% uplift in new users apparently. So where your library lets you, you can borrow all my books for nothing, but I still get a payment. Win-win.

Audiobook revenue has happened

OK don’t get too excited – but anything is a surprise because they’re not all up for sale so I’m not marketing them yet.

Three of the four audiobooks – and Unlucky Dip – are live on Findaway Voices and Unlucky Dip is live on ACX. Obviously it will be three months or more before the others get approved on ACX, which is one of the reasons they are on Findaway as well. That and because it’s Findaway that supplies them to public libraries.

Anyway, ACX has reported that I have royalties due on Unlucky Dip but I cannot for the life of me discover what I do to find out how much. To my delight, Findaway also reported a library borrow of Unlucky Dip, which means Gareth and I have earned the princely sum of 16 pence each.

Woot!

Upon hearing this news Gareth’s reaction was, ‘finally that private island is in sight.’ Mwahahaargh! While McOther said, ‘I guess I’d better hold off from ordering that Aston Martin for another couple of weeks, then.’ But hey, as I said, I’ve done zero marketing so far, and these are not books that sell themselves. I’m not going to be uploading a book to Amazon, going away and discovering, two weeks later, that 50,000 people have downloaded it. That has happened to some authors, but my stuff … nah, I have to work for every sale I make. So if someone buys one without any input from me that’s a pretty good start.

In another happy chance, Playster says it sometimes gives audiobooks a rating before customers do in cases where their editors like them. I see that all the ones I have on there so far have been given four stars, which is nice. It may just come from the book ratings as my books are on there, too. Whatever it is, I’m chuffed.

Strange days indeed.

Most peculiar mumma … woah. Yep. Times, they are … definitely weird.

Anyone get the obscure pop reference? Btw?

Yeh, OK. Probably not. Either that or there’ll be a deluge of comments saying I’ve got the words wrong, which I probably have because I didn’t bother to look it up. But it popped into my head this morning and I sat there thinking,

‘John, mate, if you thought life was weird back then in the late 70s/early 80s, you really hadn’t thought things through.’

Undomesticated footballs in a recreation of their natural habitat at the Abbey Gardens Zoo

Incidentally, did you know that because of our habit here in Britain of naming the eldest son after his father, 35% of all men in Britain were called John for most of history? It only changed in the first half of the twentieth century.

Arnold’s pants, babbling. Stop.

Have I gone a little bit mad? Probably. Or maybe it’s just even harder to pretend to be normal than usual. Then again, look at world events! Who’s going to notice? Maybe I’m just going a little bit stir crazy, like these footballs, perhaps, trapped in one of the open roofed parts of the ruins in my local park. Doomed to live on the dregs from plastic water bottles for the rest of their natural lives. No frisbees or kites as yet but I particularly like the look of that green one, I’d like to go back with a massive stick and see if I could find some way to roll it close enough to the bars to chuck it back out … it’s a good 40ft up though and once I touched it, I’d probably discover it was covered in rat shit. Yeh. OK, let’s call that, Lockdown Amusements Plan A.

Things are well odd now aren’t they? Lots of references to the Spanish Flu epidemic which is not helping. I have reached the point where I am largely ignoring the news. I’ve done a couple of walks though and enjoyed the sun until … blimey oh Riley? Hay fever.

Some blossom on Wednesday …

Jeepers! Usually at this time of year I am away. Yes, I get hay fever but it’s the pine pollen version, up in the Alps. This year I have been trapped in our garden with the birch trees and the very, lovely and heavily scented but also mightily pollen producing Lilac tree opposite.

Oh my fucking aunt Ada.

Any fellow hay fever sufferers out there? Anyone get the vertigo version?

For three days I have had the fucking spins – except yesterday I drank my own body weight in water and got rid of it. So much so that last night I had two glasses of wine and a very small calvados (plus a pint and a half of water) and it went. I even went to the loo at five am this morning without the tiniest whiff of the dizzy. But then it was raining, of course, so it was only to be expected. By seven thirty, when I sat up, the room was spinning like some kind of crap special effect from 1960s StarTrek. I was running from one side of the room to the other as I staggered to the loo for my morning wee and everything was going up and down. Luckily I have pills for this, so as well as popping piraton like it’s going out of fashion, I have some stuff the doctor prescribed for me a while ago which I use to hammer the dizzy on just these occasions. It’s not so bad, just a bit grim while I wait for it to kick in.

Some years back I got a sinus infection that went on for absolutely ever. It happens occasionally and usually it takes about two weeks to go on its own but this one didn’t. Eventually I had several rounds of antibiotics. The doc explained that I would always be prone to vertigo because the insides of my … inner ear? Sinuses? Spinny bits, anyway, were scarred and it would take very little to a) re-infect or b) set the buggers off again.

On the up side it’ll go as soon as the lilac and birch flowers are over. And it goes now, literally about three minutes after it starts to rain, except it never bloody rains. Presumably it’s waiting for summer to do that. On the upside, it seems that every single thing that blossoms is doing it at once so maybe it’s just volume of traffic, so to speak.

Moving on …

On our walk on Wednesday, McMini and I invented a new word. We noticed one of the seagulls flying above us – I’ve no idea why we have so many gulls in Bury, we’re miles from the sea but I assume it’s something to do with the nearby rubbish dump. Anyway. This gull flew over and dropped a massive poo which splutted onto the roof of a nearby house. We both saw it and giggled about what a narrow escape we had. Then we got talking about what if it had landed on the road near us, the sound it would make, and then of course, it was only a tiny hop from that to, would there be any spatterage? If it plopped from 40ft up, how far away would you have to be for your ankles to stay safe from … what would you call it? And then we came up with the word.

Crapnel: pronounced like Shrapnel but with a Cr. The splash back from landing excrement which is not a direct hit, in itself, but results in droplets peppering the unfortunate victim’s body or clothing, or in a particularly virulent post curry situation, bottom.

Yeh, I know, not that funny, unless you are eleven or a mother with a comparable mental age. Then, of course, it’s an absolute belter. I laughed til I stopped.

Live appearance, I hope, on Wednesday 22nd April.

This week I am trying something new. I have signed up to a virtual book fair … on Twitter. Gads I know nothing about twitter. I will, hopefully, be streaming a reading from Escape From B-Movie Hell live from … well … probably from my car because … acoustics. This glorious event will take place at 2.30 pm, BST, which is British Standard Time, which is, I think, British Summer Time. For the purposes of the broadcast, I’m going to assume it is, anyway. If you’re in the US this is 9.30 am, EDT.

I have a half hour slot; a ten minute reading followed by a space for people to ask questions … although my books are as verbose as these blog posts so, in order to read a bit where something actually happens it’s a 15 minute reading and 15 minutes of questions. I have tested the video link and it does work, although I may have to do it sound only because McMini will be back at e-school by then and the bandwidth may be taking too much of a hammering to accommodate both of us.

The slot before me, the first of the whole fair, is my lovely local author friend Rachel Churcher, so it might be worth tuning in early to watch hers. You pick out the authors you are interested, go to their twitter feed at the appropriate time and there should be a live video playing … I hope …

The reading and the Q&A will be about Escape From B-Movie Hell and I will reduce the price of that book to £1.99 $2.99, or the equivalent in whatever else you work in across the main retailers this week.

Cutting my own throat …

What with the fact these are strange days I’ve been wondering how I can sort out some other reader treats and yet, at the same time … you know … not starve. Here’s my cunning plan.

As well as reducing Escape by several quid, the K’Barthan Box Set is in one of those lovely 40% off box set sales at Kobo starting next Saturday, I think. Always good, those and I will remind you again next week. I’ve also managed to give away a lot of copies of Escape From B-Movie Hell and of Few Are Chosen on Kobo this month – and in the case of Few, Amazon US price matched so lots of folks downloaded it there, which was nice. A couple have even read it and bought the other books, too which was absolutely splendid.

Quite a few people seem to be downloading the free ebook novella that I give away with my mailing list right now too. Hurrah! I do hope they’re enjoying it.

What I am trying to persuade people to do is use their local libraries to listen to or read my digital books. That way nobody has to pay to read anything, although, in most instances, the library pays for the book once and I am compensated a small amount under the various book lending schemes.

One Man: No Plan is coming to audio

On Man: No Plan audio cover

Woot! Yep. Last but not least, I got the third of the four audiobooks back yesterday. I tell you the glee wave emanating from this part of Britain was probably strong enough to effect the orbits of nearby planets. I was so ludicrously excited about it all. Still am. So I’ll be loading that up to the retailers today. Should be live everywhere except audible within the next month/month and a half possibly? Audible will take 3 months unfortunately, because they just do right now; about 60 days plus for QA to listen and pass it and then anything from a week to over a month’s pause while it’s ‘heading to retail’. That’s the main reason why I went wide rather than all in, but also because I think the current situation has rendered a lot of people time rich but cash poor. For that reason, it seems like a great opportunity to introduce my books to bored library users! It’ll help the libraries and it’ll help me. Win win.

Other bookish news …

Close Enough cover

Yep, in other news, Close Enough, the third Hamgeean Misfit K’Barthan Short has been beta read and I’m just going through the beta reader’s comments now. Next, it’s on to editing. After that, so long as the designers are still able to do the paperback cover, the book should be out late June as an ebook and a paperback. If all goes well, it will be coming to audio later along with the other shorts. I’m hoping sales of the series will fund production, though, so don’t hold your breath.

And finally …

Nothing like a bit of blood, fish and bone on the roses eh?

All this being locked down has made for a very well maintained garden. Well … a bit. I still haven’t weeded the boarder but that’s mainly because I’m waiting for a massive cut on my hand to heal. I’m a bit leery of this kind of thing after having cellulitis. I do NOT want that again. But I hope to fix the border next week.

In the meantime, we are mostly growing tomatillos, tomatoes, climbing purple-podded French beans and ONE onion.

Alongside these we have some fruit trees because the folks before us were well into their fruit. There are two apple trees, a pear tree, gooseberry and current bushes, grapes … a LOT of grapes, a mulberry tree and a plum. We also have a peach with leaf curl, I must sort that out. Naturally, since McMini is a kid, it’s obligatory for him to grow sunflowers. And of course, there’s the garlic, which is wild and a bit of a thug but very food in cooking, and the raspberries, which are supposed to grow in pots but seem to prefer the entire vegetable garden. Yes if anyone in Bury wants a raspberry plant, just let me know and I can leave it out the back for you to collect.

If possible, we might be growing some courgettes, and a couple of curly kale plants would be good to see us through the winter. It depends if I can get the seed. I grew some kale last year and it was fab. Needs to be caged in though or you get caterpillars on it. Which reminds me, our butterfly count is good this year; some tortoishells, a red admiral (little one), an orange tip, a couple of brimstone blue and a bright yellow one. Plus lots of those weird furry things that are a cross between a bumble bee, a hummingbird hawk moth and a hover fly, with a long proboscis. They sip nectar as far as I can tell.

So that’s it from Suffolk this week. Hope it’s all going well up your way and you’re feeling like the blossom rather than the footballs!

Except there is …

More on that story later. First, a quick update on the audiobooks.

It’s been a quiet week. My local writers collective met yesterday, which was lovely, and on Tuesday, I finally managed to send the blips I’d spotted in the audio version of The Wrong Stuff back to Gareth. It’s his birthday today. And looking at the quality of the recordings he’s done so far, I’m feeling a little giddy! As if it’s my birthday and all! I am a little in awe of his talent and I will owe him for this, pretty much in perpetuity.

Clearly I feel a bit nervous about the audio in some respects. This is partly because I can’t quite believe it’s happening but also because, as royalty share, I’d really like it to do well so Gareth actually earns something for his trouble. I suspect it’ll be work from other authors who hear it rather than royalties, but he is aware of that and seems totally undaunted, even if I’m actually beginning to feel a bit guilty.

The other, far more straightforward reason to harbour doubts is because it’s my stuff he’s narrating. And doubting your stuff is all part of being creative. And jeez there’s nothing like listening to someone read your magnum opus, and read it really well, to fully appreciate any deficiencies in the writing. Imposter syndrome anyone? Yeeees a bit. It’s definitely A Thing we creatives get; to shit bricks about what we’ve done I mean, even when we know it’s alright really. But there’s more than a slight feeling here of, ‘Oh god, this bloke is absolutely bloody brilliant and the material I’ve given him is … er hem … not actually quite as brilliant as he is.’ I was aware that my talent lies more in the telling of the story than any linguistic poncing toddling involved so it shouldn’t really come as a surprise, and yet … yeh … there we are.

Maybe one of the biggest, most important things anyone learns, while doing creative anything, is the difference between doubts that are, basically, just your mojo messing with your arse, and real doubts. Learning when to listen to those doubts and when to just grit your teeth, ignore the cringing inside and push on through is a big part of learning how to create. When I’m working on a novel, I usually start to get severe misgivings about a third of the way in. Then I get stuck. Either because I’ve gone off in the wrong direction, or because I just need a bit of time for my subconscious to work out what’s going to happen next. That’s why I had to stop writing the big stuff when Dad got bad, because there was never enough time to get back into the complicated projects, catch up and start working again, before the next crisis hit from the Real World.

Discussing the doubts side of it with Gareth, briefly, it turns out that he gets them too. Like I said, standard creative procedure I suspect, but it’s still comforting, and a little affirming, to have confirmation from someone else, too. Especially someone with less reason to doubt than many of us. Yeh, so while I do doubt the quality of my stuff, I guess I also know, sort of, that it’s probably a load of bollocks in this case.

Anyway, we are hoping to have the first draft done before he heads off on tour at the end of next week. It’s likely that I won’t have enough time to listen and get the alts back, but he will probably be able to do those during the spring holidays, in April, when he gets back.

Talking about doubts … I have a new book out today. Short is not my best metier and I have a few genuine misgivings about this one which, I suspect are well founded. Except the description of Mrs Dingleton’s, I like that. Never mind, here are the details anyway! In a new departure from my standard, somewhat laissez faire release strategy, I’m also running an exciting competition in which someone can win some smashing K’Barthan Blingery. Phnark. Feel free to enter if you like.

Nothing To See Here

Yes! It has landed. The next novella in the series of shorts about The Pan of Hamgee’s time as a delivery man for Big Merv is now out. Woot.

Here’s the blurb …

It’s midwinter and preparations for the biggest religious festival in the K’Barthan year are in full swing. Yes, even though, officially, religious activity has been banned, no-one’s going to ignore Arnold, The Prophet’s Birthday, especially not Big Merv. He orders The Pan of Hamgee to deliver the traditional Prophet’s Birthday gift to his accountants and lawyers. As usual, The Pan has managed to elicit the unwanted attention of the security forces. Can he make the delivery and get back to the Parrot and Screwdriver pub in time for an unofficial Prophet’s Birthday celebration with his friends?

If you’re interested you can find out more by clicking on the picture or clicking here:

The competition

If you do end up reading and enjoying Nothing To See Here, you can use your incredible knowledge of the plot in a game of skill and chance to— er hem. You can enter a prize draw to win this smashing K’Barthan mug worth many Brtitish pounds!

Well … OK at least a tenner, £15, in fact. Oh dear, this is beginning to read like one of those spoof ads in Viz.

Hint, you’ll probably be in with a good chance because I doubt many folks will enter.

All you need to do to is answer a question about the story and you will be entered into the draw … unless it’s illegal to enter raffles in your country, in which case, please don’t.

The draw will be open until the end of February. Panic not if you’ve blown your book budget already this month, Noting To See Here should be available in many libraries across the UK, US and Oceana. You might have to ask your librarian for it though. Once you’ve read the book and can answer the question, you can enter the draw here!

This week has been busy. Much going on anyway and then The Wrong Stuff arrived for audio proofing. Woot. More on that and the audio project generally in a week or two.

What I should be writing about, this week, is my new release, Nothing To See Here, which is out a week today on 8th Feb. But 8th Feb is also Dad’s birthday, I’m sort of releasing it then, in his honour, so I’ve kind of been thinking about that this week, too.

This last Sunday, I went to church and because McOther had Stuff To Do, elsewhere, I took McMini. McMini is pretty good on his own for a few minutes while I whizz up to the post box or nip to Tesco’s but I don’t like to leave him on his own for long periods of time – one and a half hours while I do church and then stuff my face with biscuits and bend everyone’s ear at coffee afterwards – for example.

As you know, McMini is a bit of a live wire and also has the same sense of the ridiculous as I do. When they do all the high church stuff with the cope and the incense round the altar on high days and holidays, and the acolytes follow and hold the arm of the cope out of the way as the celebrant does their thing, I immediately think of James Brown. James Brown used to do many encores and he’d pretend to be overcome with exhaustion and his acolytes would help him onto the stage, where he’d perform again … all part of the theatre. And he wore a cloak sometimes, which sort of helps make it feel similar. This is probably Blasphemy but then again, since Christ was not above sarcasm, in spades, and clearly had a sense of humour, I am hoping that, when I head pearly gates-wards he’ll intervene on my behalf about this one if things are looking a bit dicey for me. Not that it’ll do me much good, there’s an awful lot of other stuff – But I’m wandering off topic again.

Taking McMini to church I am aware that it’s a long service, and he doesn’t always enjoy the hymns (I like a good shouty hymn but I’m a half trained classical musician). McMini is beginning to enjoy classical music, and he will, because as a musician, he will end up listening to everything because if you are musical, that’s what you do. But I feel it’s important not to force it. The trick is for him to know it’s there and he’ll learn to enjoy it in time. He’s beginning to rather like opera … just as I reach the point in my life where it’s pretty certain I’ll never go to Glyndebourne again. Sigh.

Anyway, there we are in church. And for the first bit he was a little bored, then, in the prayers, he took it quite seriously doing all the responses etc.

The jumper tribble … octopus? starfish?

Then as we got to the sermon his attention began to wander again. It was actually rather a good one but I’d seen this coming and my theory is that, it’s better to behave a bit badly in church, for us to have a laugh together and for him to enjoy the experience, than to make him be ‘good’ and put him off going for the rest of his life. Because even if he’s a bit bored, if he spends most of the time giggling, it’s going to be a memory of happy bored when he looks back on it later. So it was that I picked the larger fluff tribbles off my jumper and made them into a little creature. This was the jumping off point for a lot of mirth.

McMini kept on waiting until I wasn’t looking and then knocking it onto the floor. Then the longer I took to notice the more giggly he got, especially if I trod on it a couple of times. This is definitely one of those events where you had to be there so you’re just going to have to believe me when I tell you it was funny. McMini is a naturally gifted clown, keenly vigilant for any opportunity to get a laugh and not one to let a single one slip by. Hence the wee joke at Dad’s funeral. Eventually the blue furry critter lost both its eyes and looked very sorry for itself. Obviously, there was also banter. I can’t remember much of it but … it was there, and there was a lot of giggling about that, too. Or at least a lot of shaking, going red and crying while we tried not to make any noise. It wasn’t stealth giggling, but we gave laughing in silence our best shot. It was only after the service that I appreciated that it wasn’t just us who’d been giggling. There’s a lovely lady who usually sits behind me with her Mum and they had also been enjoying the … er hem … show.

The mum flashed us a beaming, twinkly smile said, ‘It is rather a long service for a young boy isn’t it?’

And I smiled back and said, ‘Um… yes,’ and left it at that.

Then the daughter said she wished she could have heard what we were saying so she could be in on the joke but we were too far away. Well … at least we weren’t making too much noise, then.

What was rather lovely about it all, apart from the fact that the other parishoners, were clearly far more happy to see that I’d brought McMini than they were worried about any behavioural deficiencies, was that it reminded me so much of Church with my parents. Dad giggling about the awful Victorian poetry again, or pointing out the dirty bits. I had no idea what detumescence was until my father pointed out a line that reminded him of it in a hymn. Although once again, St John’s excelled itself with rather good poetry, and a couple of tunes taken from the Scottish Psalter and an Orlando Gibbons thrown in … all the kind of elegant, symmetrical, mathematical music that I love.

This morning, McMini had arranged to meet some friends in town. I wasn’t sure when but I felt that, possibly, meet up time was pending when there was a sudden sense of urgent activity and then I could hear McMini saying on the phone, ‘I’m running a bit late … I’ll be with you soon … It won’t take that long to walk up there will it? Where would I meet you then? OK.’

It occurred to me that if he was going to the other end of town, he might appreciate a lift. So I popped my head round the door and asked if all was well. He admitted that he’d agreed to meet his friends at ten fifteen but that he’d suddenly realised at about ten thirteen that he was still in his pyjamas.

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘So … did you make this arrangement at about half past nine think you’d just do a couple of things first and lose track of time?’ I asked him.

He no longer throws me an ‘are you telepathic?’ look when I do this sort of thing because he is old enough to understand about inherited traits and that he’s just a chip off the old block. Instead he gave me a sort of small, knowing smile and said, ‘Yes.’

Immediately I remembered the number of times my father had forgotten he was supposed to be somewhere, or that he’d invited someone to lunch. Mum became a consummate expert at Not Looking Surprised, when people turned up to lunch unannounced and stretching meals for larger numbers of people than anticipated. I suspect there was also a reason we seldom ate before one or quarter past. Plenty of time to make extra arrangements if surprise guests suddenly turned up.

One particular time, I remember my uncle ringing and asking where Dad was. I asked where he was supposed to be. At the Rotary Club lunch, my uncle explained. Ah. Dad was, at this point, in Worthing, and when they set off, he and Mum had said they might stay and have lunch there. Obviously I didn’t tell my uncle this, instead I said,

‘Oh yes, he did say he was going to lunch, where was it again?’

My uncle named a hotel in Haywards Heath. I explained that Mum and Dad had popped into worthing.

‘He’s probably lost track of time, but I’m sure he’ll be with you shortly,’ I said, praying that this was true.

I managed to pump my uncle reasonably subtly for information as to where Dad had to go, whether Mum was invited too (no) and if he needed change for parking. I say I was subtle. I probably wasn’t but my uncle was good enough to play along with the pretence.

Luckily, Dad and Mum returned a few seconds after I’d finished talking to my uncle. I tipped Dad off but I’d forgotten the dress code. None of us were very up on the Rotary so we hummed and haad about what he should wear and decided that jacket and tie would probably be OK. So he quickly put a tie on, grabbed a decent jacket, leapt into the car and sped off to join his long suffering brother. I think he arrived half an hour late, in the end, which wasn’t too bad. Unfortunately, everyone else was wearing suits.

On the up side apparently the feedback was very good and one fellow Rotarian told my uncle,

‘Your brother is a very cool customer. Not only did he give a wonderful speech, but I was sitting near him, and I saw him write it during the pudding course.’

So there was McMini, late already because, like his mother and grandfather before him he had, ‘lost track of time’. Naturally, I offered him a lift.

We grabbed his phone and keys and I gave him a fiver. Then I went to open the garage and left him putting on his shoes and getting his bag.

‘Don’t forget to shut the door,’ I said. Obviously, it’s one of those ones that, if you shut it, locks itself.

We got into the car and I managed to get him to his meeting point by twenty past, so he was only five minutes late. When I arrived home, I discovered he’d left the back door wide open. Blimey he’s a chip off the old block.

As I watch my son following in his grandfather’s footsteps, and mine, I think a small penny dropped somewhere. I am brain fogged, for sure, but it’s a lot better since I started the HRT and while I may feel like I’m demented, perhaps it’s more of a case of being like my dad. Maybe it’s not that the numbers of instances when I’ve ‘lost track of time’ or just forgotten something that are increasing. Maybe I just feel like they are because, as an adult, doing this kind of stuff correctly is more important.

Maybe.

Which reminds me. I’ve a new book out next week and it’s available for pre-order. If you’re interested here’s the info click on the title or the picture to visit the links page:

It’s midwinter and preparations for the biggest religious festival in the K’Barthan year are in full swing. Yes, even though, officially, religious activity has been banned, no-one’s going to ignore Arnold, The Prophet’s Birthday, especially not Big Merv. He orders The Pan of Hamgee to deliver the traditional Prophet’s Birthday gift to his accountants and lawyers. As usual, The Pan has managed to elicit the unwanted attention of the security forces. Can he make the delivery and get back to the Parrot and Screwdriver pub in time for an unofficial Prophet’s Birthday celebration with his friends?

It’s a bit of an amazing thing that having spent the last four years or so writing posts on my blog that were, basically, excuses not to write, I’m now having to write posts apologising for not talking about the stuff I normally talk about because I’ve too much writing news to impart. Yeh, here I go again, because this week this happened.

Unlucky Dip Audio Book

Yes people, that is an audiobook cover and Unlucky Dip is now live and available for pre order on Kobo. Swoon!

It’s ready to publish on Findaway Voices too but I haven’t dared press the button yet, just in case. Naturally ACX, an Amazon company, is a whole different kettle of fish.

Gareth and I are both on a bit of a learning curve with this audio gig so when I uploaded the book to Findaway Voices, first, I discovered that there was a problem. An error message popped up informing me that the file was qqwe[ru09025jbm’ ytopqq09t574qyhgwa – or at least whatever it was it said, it made as much sense to me as that does. So I carefully cut and pasted it and sent it to Gareth, who knew exactly what it meant and fixed it.

Kobo, well, clearly everything went without a hitch there because we’d fixed the qqwe[ru09025jbm’ ytopqq09t574qyhgwa problem we discovered at Findaway. So with a little trepidation, I decided I’d submit to ACX which is an Amazon company. I’d forgotten why I deal with Amazon as little as possible. This reminded me. I uploaded all the files and when I tried to click the submit button which is labelled funkily, ‘I’m done’ I discovered it was greyed out and when I hovered over it this illuminating message popped up.

‘cannot submit production because there are issues with the uploaded audio.’

Marvellous.

I had a look at the submission guidelines to see if it was anything I’d done. It might be that the name is different. On all outlets the book is called Unlucky Dip but Amazon may want the series title given. This is where the problem will arise, because, if it does, it will not be looking for K’Barthan Series, instead it’ll be looking for K’Barthan Trilogy, because Amazon refuses to change the series name – unlike like every single other site on earth. Thanks for the blistering two star review that invoked, too, Amazon.

I tried to find help but ACX help was about as useful as a chocolate tea pot, thousands and thousands of help pages that tell you nothing and basically tell it to check it your fucking self! Mwahahahrgh! I clicked on their help pages and then on contact to ask their help desk. The link took me to Audible. I tried to contact the Audible help desk and explain. Chat didn’t work just tried to load again and again and asked for my log in details occasionally. Email did nothing either so I clicked on the button that would get them to phone me. A very kind fellow gave me the email address to write to but warned me that ACX help is only open from 12.00 to 9.00pm on Monday through to Thursday. It was Friday.

I emailed them, anyway, and got the standard canned Amazon response that they didn’t like my mail forwarding. So I emailed them again from the ‘right’ address. They replied. Had I published to ACX from Findaway? No. I replied but I had published to Apple, or at least I was going to but I hadn’t actually clicked publish on Findaway yet, in case something went wrong with ACX. Prescient of me eh? That’s as far as we got before 8.00pm.

Despite being officially closed, or maybe that’s the phone line, ACX support have emailed me today as well. Go them. I notice their version of the qqwe[ru09025jbm’ ytopqq09t574qyhgwa problem that we had at Findaway is slightly different. Possibly. So I’ve passed that on to Gareth, who must be doing his nut with all this. Especially as it’s the same as Findaway on the ACX guidelines you download. It’s only different on the help pages you see when you are trying to work out what to do if you have some unspecified error and the boilerplate bit of the support email that says, have you checked this? It’s like querying publishers or agents, they all want the same thing only each one is just that tiny, tiny bit different, and mistakes bar entry!

The little bit I’ve learned about Audiobook publishing so far

What I know about audio could be written on the back of a teaspoon. All I knew was that I wanted to go wide because I want to get my books into libraries if I can, hoping to start that process soon so I’ll let you know how I get on. Here’s what I’ve gathered so far.

You’ll need an ISBN and that means you have to add the record to Nielsen book data here in the UK. I found I needed to do the long form so that I can stipulate that the book is in audio format. (I was only allowed to choose an ebook imprint or a paper imprint so I have emailed them about that but in the meantime, I’ve logged the isbn as an ebook and then chose audio format later on in the form.) Yeh. I know. Counter intuitive or what? Or maybe it’s just me being really dim.

Kobo allows you to upload finished books, direct, but you may have to contact their support and ask them to add the audiobooks tab to your dashboard. I did and they added it swiftly without fuss. Kobo will pay you a 35% royalty for audio books under a certain price and a 45% royalty above it. They distribute to Walmart, Indigo in Canada and something called BOL in the Netherlands.

Findaway pay from 30-50% depending on the model you are using and distribute to over 40 outlets and libraries, including Apple, Audible and Amazon.

ACX accept publications from wide authors, with ready made books, and will pay 25% royalties. They publish to ‘a minimum of’ Audible, Amazon and Apple.

My cunning plan …

Publish to Kobo direct for 40% royalties. Go to ACX for Audible, Amazon and Apple for 25% royalties. Go through Findaway Voices for 40-45% of everything else, including Apple, again, but also libraries.

Knowing that ACX is run by Amazon, I decided that I would only claim the short story on ACX to start with and would see how it went before I committed to using them for everything. If ACX transpires to be as batshit crazy as Amazon, the reduced demands on my time and sanity, from not going direct, may be worth more than the reduced royalty rate in the long run.

ACX does not allow you to opt out of Apple at the ACX end, more on that later.

As I understand it, if you go to ACX through an aggregator you will not be eligible for their bonus system – so if you get someone go sign up to audible to buy your book, you won’t receive a ‘bounty’ unless you’re direct. Likewise, I think it precludes you from tokens to give away free books. This is why a lot of people go to both.

The authors who I ‘spoke’ to have mixed results with the bounty system, some have done really well, some haven’t had a blip.

At the moment, you can publish to Apple through Findaway and ACX at the same time, then you contact Findaway and they will contact Apple who will prioritise your Findaway, higher-royalty-paying listing. However, the support email I received said,‘Findaway distributes to Audible and Amazon through ACX, so if you already distributed you book with them you cannot submit the book through ACX yourself.Duplicate products are prohibited as per our legal contracts and agreements.’Which looks a bit worrying, although it doesn’t mention Apple specifically. I’ll have to double check the contract. I have demurred from pressing the go button at Findaway, anyway so I can deselect Apple if I have to.

K’Barthan Trilogy on Amazon UK

Few Are Chosen in paperback (click image):
Kindle version:Few Are Chosen (The K'Barthan Trilogy)
The Wrong Stuff in paperback (click image):
Kindle version:
The Wrong Stuff, K'Barthan Trilogy: Part 2
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A group of London teenagers judging the Wishing Shelf Book Awards awarded a silver award to Few Are Chosen, K'Barthan Trilogy: Part 1. Escape From B-Movie Hell was also voted a winner - of a bronze medal this time - in 2015.